Collared
by Adriana Troy
Summary: Snape, a convicted traitor, is released into Hermione's custody as long as he wears an enchanted collar that forces him to follow her every command. SS/HG
1. Introduction

Collared

Adriana Troy

Disclaimer: The characters and world they are in belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from this fan fiction. Honest.

Pairing: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger. Post Voldemort's WWWII (Wizarding World War II), so Miss Granger is no longer a student. No squickiness there. Read on to find out the rest.

Rating: The Fanfiction.net version is a strong PG-13. My view is if you can watch Buffy, then you can probably read this. Other archived versions will include much darker violence and consensual adult situations (yeah, sex) and will be labeled NC-17. That won't happen until far later chapters, and I'll try to include the link to the alternatives if anyone is interested. Since FF.Net is now a prudish prat when it comes to such things.

Archive: Sure, knock yourself out. Just keep author's name in tact and don't change anything. I think that's pretty much a given. No need to directly e-mail the author and ask. She'd just say yes anyway.

A/N: Although this involves a collar, there isn't any real BDSM (if you don't know what that is then don't worry). Hermione isn't likely to begin brandishing a whip, so my apologies if that disappoints you. The beginning (and other parts) is purposefully fashioned after Silence of the Lambs. I fancy Snape as a Hannibal like prisoner and Hermione as the fresh agent Starling. It is, in fact, where the idea for this plot first bloomed. Then, as all plot bunnies tend to do, it multiplied at an astounding rate. Booyah.

Introduction

Maximum Security Wing. Azkaban Prison. 6:11 PM. June 4th, 2005.

"Seems everything is in order then."

Professor Granger nodded to the guard as he handed over the documents and papers that had been signed and sealed with the Minster of Magic's signet. It had been a trial of patience and quite a few cramps in the finger joints, to get all of the paperwork together and approved. First, bringing up the idea to Minerva, and then following the old witch's connections in the Ministry, and a few of her own. Both women had a pipeline to Minister Dumbledore. Not to mention Hermione's long standing friendship with Harry, who now oversaw the Enforcement of Magical Law branch at the Ministry.

Everyone who had heard of her idea had been skeptical, but she was as stubborn as ever. She knew this would work, it had to, since all other avenues seemed closed. The inspiration had struck her as most inspiration did, as she walked through the Dungeons near the old Potions Classroom one evening during rounds. The figurative Lumos had gone off in her head, and she rushed to do the appropriate research.

Muggle and Magical literature on criminology had helped her greatly. Interviews with a few people who had known him the best, learning whatever she could about the man. Everything from talking with Remus about their time in school, to speaking directly to the Minister about his personal tastes. She had developed a Muggle Profile of sorts, but there were many gaps. He had always been, and still remained, a very private individual. Hermione was certain, however, that she could break through a few of those barriers. Get him to talk and aid the manhunt currently under way.

All this had taken two months. A long road to Azkaban, and now she was standing at the precipice. Following the pepper haired Wizard down the twisting staircase to where they kept the most infamous and dangerous of prisoners. It was cold, but not with the heavy blackness that had permeated the place when Dementors had stood guard all those years before the War. One of Dumbledore's first acts as Minister had been to abolish the Dark Creatures from the old fortress. Place wizards employed by the Ministry instead to keep watch over the criminals and ex Death Eaters. Witches and wizards no longer went insane within the walls, but they were still wary of receiving sentence to the prison. The ghosts alone were enough to turn a person's stomach.

They went deep into the bowls of the fortress, the guard talking small chat with her as they descended into the cold. Things grew on the stones down here, slimy and moss textured, moving about on little legs. Hermione could not help but shiver as one crawled across her path, and she carefully stepped over it in her pumps. The echoes from below brought up only silence, and when they finally reached the heavily warded door she had to wonder what was beyond it.

The guard waved his wand and the small hint of magic, like static electricity against the skin, fell away. The iron latched clicked and the door tore into the floor with a metallic screech as it was opened. A hush series of murmurs greeted her as she followed the guard into the ward. The eyes staring back at her mostly hollowed, a few curious, and a few outright leering. She avoided contact, keeping her line of sight on the stone wall at the end of the corridor. It was the last cell, she knew, since the small wooden chair was already placed in front of it.

It wasn't until she actually reached the wards that she could see him. At once, a hundred memories flooded her. He was not so very different from the domineering, sneering, nightmarish Potions Professor she remembered. There were a few more lines in his face, the skin now porcelain white instead of sallow. She supposed it was the cauldron fumes that had tinted his skin, but his hair was every bit as unkempt and greasy. Perhaps more so. It hung limply against his shoulder blades in clusters.

His posture was relaxed, reclining against the wall close to the invisible ward with his shoulder; ankles out and crossed in a rather casual angle. He was no longer allowed to wear the billowing black robes, too many pockets, and was dressed only in a starched white shirt, cuffed and elegant even if wrinkled and obviously unwashed for many days. His body was thinner than she remembered, too many jutting angles following his skeletal frame, although she was assured the prisoners were all well fed. His coal black trousers fit tightly enough, and the straight-backed lines seemed to accentuate the length of his legs.

It was the face that pierced Hermione. Eyes of glittering black onyx, like two large pupils, stared at her with every inch the sharp intelligence of a predator she remembered. They did a very fast scan downwards and up, searching for weakness like a vulture. Ready to pick at her bones should she falter. If he was surprised to see her after five years of imprisonment, he made no sign of it. Still with the deceptive stance of a giant panther relaxing on his perch. His nose, just as large and crooked as ever, had always been an unforgettable feature. As was the harsh and unforgiving angles of his face.

Hermione smiled at him, proud she was not quite as nervous as she probably ought to have been. "Evening, Professor Snape."

The guard adjusted her seat, casting weary glances at Snape from the corner of his eye as he did so. Snape if anything seemed amused by it all as the guard scampered away quickly. When he finally spoke, his voice was the same silken tenor that slid over her skin and shot straight to the nervous system. The diction precise as a scalpel's edge, and she knew it could be just as sharp and cutting. "Good evening, Miss Granger." He replied smoothly, still leaning against the wall. "Or, has that changed? Mrs. Potter, or Weasley, perhaps?"

"Still Miss, Professor." Hermione replied while seating herself primly. Her back kept straight and her shoulders squared as she demurely crossed her ankles and not her knees. She knew he would appreciate the more lady-like gestures. This was a man who enjoyed the illusion of high social conformity. "Although, I teach now."

"Indeed?" His body language, which she was monitoring closely, gave nothing away. Not that she expected it to. He was too well trained in deception for that. The best she could hope for was a slip, but it would not happen while he was en guard. Which, she was sure he was, despite his casual manner. "My condolences, then."

"Your opinion of students hasn't changed, I see." Hermione said neutrally. She loved her students. Especially the ones who were eager to learn, as she had been.

One thin black brow made a languid trip towards his hairline. "Not in the least. Yet, somehow, I have a feeling you are not here to get a few disciplinary techniques." His smile was thin and bitter. "So let's cut to the point, shall we?"

Even inside the cell, he was still leading the conversation. Taking it where he wanted it to go. Taking the control. "All right, Professor." She agreed in as amiable fashion as she could. "I'm sure you're aware of the ongoing manhunt for the Death Eaters remaining after the end of the war. Specifically those wanted for crimes against wizard kind through the years of the first and second war."

He lifted his right shoulder in a small shrug. "Not much of the outside world reaches us in here, Miss Granger." His tone was bored. "Surely you don't think I have had any contact with them?"

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I don't."

"Then why are you here?"

Hermione took a small breath. "Because you know them better than anyone else, Professor. Knew how their minds worked. You had to, in order to spy as you did."

"Ah." Snape smiled again, a cold and bitter thing, revealing a small flash of yellow teeth. "But I've been condemned as a traitor to the Order, Miss Granger. According to the Ministry, a double agent."

"I know that, sir." Hermione replied, recalling his trial very well. Harry had testified during the highly published proceedings. Both she and Ron had been there to lend support. The site of the Potions Master, standing erect and proud before being led off in conjured bounds, had shaken them all.

Banishing the memory and focusing on the present, she continued to push ahead. "The fact is, guilty or not, you still played a dangerous game. I only want your guidance on their possible movements. That's all."

"So, finally, it seems I know something the Brilliant Miss Granger does not." He sneered, and it flashed a thousand Potion lessons in her mind. "Must really rip you up."

"Lucius and Draco Malfoy. Vincent Crabbe. Gregory Goyle. Blaise Zambini." Hermione listed. "Still unaccounted for and the trails are cold."

"Good for them." Snape hissed.

Hermione leaned slightly forward, trying to appear earnest. "They're willing to put you into my custody." She told him in a soft voice. "If you agree to help me track them down."

Snape hadn't so much as twitched at the news of being offered a chance to walk outside his dingy cell. Away from the single cot fastened next to the cold and living stone wall. Where the few books he was permitted looked ancient and worn from the humidity. The small flickering scones on the wall cast shadows nearly as frightening as the ones that must have lived within his memories.

He didn't seem interested in the slightest. "Your custody?" His lip was curled into distaste, the words sarcastic. "I can't seem to think of any one person, except perhaps Potter, I'd be more loath to find myself in forced company with."

Hermione pursed her lips together. If she had been inside of that cell, even without the torment of Dementors, she would have been much more enthusiastic about spending time away from the endless cycle of time in Azkaban. "I should point out, Professor, that I am not naturally inclined to seek out your company either. However, the cause-"

"I've suffered enough for both causes." He pushed off the wall in a graceful motion and slowly stepped closer to the invisible ward. Hermione fought the urge to flinch back as he stalked forward. Show no weakness. "I, Miss Granger, am extremely sick of causes. It's time to look out, as they say, for number one."

"I agree." Hermione said evenly. "Which is why you ought to be interested in the rewards for you, should you successfully help apprehend the missing fugitives."

Snape's large nose was just inches away from being shocked by the intense magic that separated them. His eyes bore into her with all the finesse of her parent's drills. "Oh? And what would they offer me now?"

"Freedom." Hermione said simply.

"And what grantees do you have that I would not simply kill you at the first opportunity and run off to join my," a vicious sneer, "comrades in arms?"

"Well, for one, you won't have a wand with you. Obviously." Hermione answered without flinching at the threat. "Two, you'll be wearing this."

She reached into the folds of her royal blue robes and pulled out a thick collar. The loop was stiff in her small hands, the large enchanted silver buckle glinting nearly as much as the smooth shining black leather. She had researched this small, enchanted, item very carefully as well. It, alone, was the only reason Dumbledore and Harry had agreed to her plan.

The sight of the collar finally provoked an intense reaction. Snape's eyes widened fractionally, his lips pressed together to form a single white line of anger. His long tapered fingers, she recalled nearly dancing above cauldrons, curled like talons. "You're jesting."

"I take it you know what it does?"

A single curt nod, his eyes burning with the flame of indignation, was his silent reply.

"Good." Hermione stated, uncrossing her ankles before standing next to the chair. Placing the collar in the center where she had sat, the grain still warm beneath the brush of fingertips. "I'll leave you to think about it, then. I'll be back tomorrow, for your decision." She straightened and turned towards him. "It's a small price for a full pardon, Professor."

Snape, apparently, had nothing more to say to her. With a nasty glare, colder than the air around her, he turned on his heel and stood with his rigid back facing Hermione. She nodded to herself, it was the best she could hope for, and slowly made her way back down the corridor. Her feet clicking along the stone as she went, ignoring the whispered voices of the other condemned.

As she ascended back up the staircase and to civilization, Hermione wondered if Snape could beat down his pride enough to take the offer. It was clear that Azkaban had not managed to take that from the feared wizard yet. She wasn't completely sure if that was a good or bad sign.

Hermione supposed, one way or another, she would find out the next day.

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	2. Once More

Collared

Adriana Troy

Disclaimer: The characters and world they are in belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from this fan fiction. Honest.

Pairing: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger. Post Voldemort's WWWII (Wizarding World War II), so Miss Granger is no longer a student. No squickiness there. Read on to find out the rest.

Rating: The Fanfiction.net version is a strong PG-13. My view is if you can watch Buffy, then you can probably read this. Other archived versions will include much darker violence and consensual adult situations (yeah, sex) and will be labeled NC-17. That won't happen until far later chapters, and I'll try to include the link to the alternatives if anyone is interested. Since FF.Net is now a prudish prat when it comes to such things.

Archive: Sure, knock yourself out. Just keep author's name in tact and don't change anything. I think that's pretty much a given. No need to directly e-mail the author and ask. She'd just say yes anyway.

A/N: Although this involves a collar, there isn't any real BDSM (if you don't know what that is then don't worry). Hermione isn't likely to begin brandishing a whip, so my apologies if that disappoints you. The beginning (and other parts) is purposefully fashioned after Silence of the Lambs. I fancy Snape as a Hannibal like prisoner and Hermione as the fresh agent Starling. It is, in fact, where the idea for this plot first bloomed. Then, as all plot bunnies tend to do, it multiplied at an astounding rate. Booyah.

Chapter I

Once More

It glinted at him in a manner entirely too reminiscent of the Dark Lord's eyes for comfort, and so he had turned away from it. Of course, the collar made its presence felt regardless. Tickled him on the edge of his consciousness, tempting and repulsing him at the same time.

Had he fallen to this? Was there nothing they would leave him? No shred of dignity?

That impetuous little imp. Oh, some things may have changed. The bushy head of hair may have been smoothed down, domesticated into a frigid bun that twisted tightly above her head in a manner all to reminiscent of Minerva for his liking. The business casual robes that covered her neatly neck to foot cut in a flattering manner against her soft curves. Curves, he was detested to admit, that he had not seen for many a year and his eyes welcomed against his mind's better judgment.

Clever little witch.

Of course, she always had been. Granger. His bane, for seven full years, hand always up and waving ferociously. Apt to draw attention to her intellect, a vain girl in that regards. Nearly as vain as himself at that age, but with a reign on that fierce temper he had seen evident twice. The furious red welt on Draco's cheek nearly matching the Malfoy's enraged gray eyes, and then again when she had lost that cool detachment in battle and sent dozens of hexes at anything that moved towards Weasley or Potter. Every inch a Gryffindor chit.

She had, in many ways, reminded him of Evans. Both Mudbloods. Both with a natural affinity for magic regardless of their status at birth. Spitting in the face of purebloods with their test scores. Both were righteously moral, upstanding, defenders of whomever they perceived as weak or treated unfairly. He resented them both for those very reasons, and that had not changed in all his years. Doubtless it ever would, despite all the morality Dumbledore had attempted to shove down his tame little Death Eater's throat.

His fist curled on itself as he even recalled Dumbledore's name. In a sense, he had known this was always one possible outcome. However, he had blindly trusted the old man. Just as he had believed the anti-muggle rhetoric of the Dark Lord before that. More the fool was he. Twice over, in fact.

And now it seemed they had found a need for him again after all these years locked away and forgotten. Dangling the same carrot before his nose. Freedom, redemption, exoneration, whatever they choose to call it. Whatever word sounded the prettiest to them. To Snape, they were but little petals falling one by one, cringed and brown tattered things of a once velvet red texture. Ideals, sadly, were like that once they fluttered away on an acrid breeze of reality. Although he had never held many of them. Those he did Snape had used to see him through his hellish road paved with blood and shadow.

How was he repaid? This. This festering stink hole of the scum of wizard kind, where they undoubtedly felt he belonged to rot and fester. Rot and fester he had. Even without the Dementors to suck away his happiness, Snape never possessed much to begin with. His phantoms were all the Dementors he needed.

If they had felt him a pessimistic, paranoid, vindictive, and difficult man before-- well, they hadn't seen anything of Snape yet.

Bastards.

The collar hummed again, even through the ward. Snape glared stubbornly at the wall before him, unwilling to turn around and acknowledge its existence. It was insulting and degrading. Ironic, that. He snorted into the blackness around him. Granger would probably get a right kick out of him wearing the thing. Following her around, forced to obey every command, sniffing out the trail of his former students and friend like some sort of bloody hound dog.

They must have been very desperate to resort to this. Releasing him, even with such a precaution. He was, after all, a trained weapon. Taught by both sides, walking the line between them in a fashion none of the rest ever could. Dumbledore must have realized that if there was any way to break the enchantment, Snape was the most likely to find it. Or perhaps Lupin, but that was a moot point. The werewolf was already broken in.

A tickling on his leg made his lips pull back into a scowl, before he reached down with one long arm and brushed away whatever creature had decided to crawl onto him. He hated this place. That, alone, was the only reason the collar seemed tempting. Even if it meant giving Granger a leash on him. At least it would involve walking about in daylight. Food that was fit for eating. A bed without the company of questionable vermin.

Still a prison, but he had been entrapped since he took the Mark. He was used to imprisonment in all forms, physical or otherwise. At least before he had the sanctuary of Potions and research. Now that was stripped, like everything else, and he was forced to stare at stone walls and listen to the rants and ravings of those already driven mad from their time before. Tedious days, melding together into simple patters of life that was exceedingly dull. Nothing but his thoughts to occupy the endless minutes.

With a suffering sigh, he flipped onto his back with a small creak of protest from the cot and stared up towards the ceiling. It came down to a choice. Surrender what little bit of his tattered dignity he had managed to retain through out it all, or suffer silently behind cold prison walls with only the wails of agony to keep him company. Snape gritted his teeth together. Bastards.

If he was actually granted what had been promised this time, the first thing he would do, he decided, would be to march into the Minister's office and give him a piece of his ruddy mind. Perhaps a bit immature, but Merlin knew Dumbledore had it coming. The next thing he would do, would be to move the hell out of Britain. Perhaps the Americas, though the thought of living with the Yanks was distasteful, better than to reside here. Find a bit of land cut off from the outside world, surely a country so big had some piece of solitary forest he could sequester himself away in, and then pick up where his research had left off.

If his notes were even in tact.

Of course, there was no guarantee they wouldn't simply throw him back into Azkaban once he had located the five wanted fugitives. What was one more Death Eater locked away and forgotten about? Especially one of his notoriety. And to be forced to endure such humiliation before hand, was that worth a walk under the sky with the grass beneath his feet?

Yes, a traitorous part of his mind whispered, _definitely worth it._

Snape ruthlessly told the weak little whisper to sod off. Last time he listened to it, he ended up in Dumbledore's office showing off his quaint little mark. And he knew where that had led him. Who needed a conscience anyhow. They were for Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Not Slytherins, or driven Ravenclaws. Certainly not for cold hearted bastards named Severus Snape.

He tilted his head and stared at the collar he couldn't see, but certainly felt. There was power over a person infused within it's cool leather. Like Imperius, but allowing the wearer a clear vision and mental faculties as they bowed to obedience. It was a choice to wear it, therefore made it legal. In the muddy ways right and wrong blended together. Imperius, bad. Enslavement collar, bad unless Ministry sanctioned. Hypocrisy at it's finest.

Snape found it humorous that this little scheme, undoubtedly dreamt up by Granger herself, came from a woman who had once fought tirelessly to free House Elves. It seemed the Gryffindor motto of necessary evil for the greater good had infected even her rigorous moral standards. He had no doubt she wouldn't abuse it, like most of the Slytherins he had known and taught. Simply wasn't in her.

Still, it would be a temptation. Treat the horrid old bat the way he had treated her. Payback. Snape had no doubts retribution was a trait everyone, even the noblest of Gryffindors, had in spades. And there was no wrath more fearsome than not only that of a woman, but one who viewed herself as justified. He shivered at the implications.

Though there was little Granger could do to him that would measure up to anything the Dark Lord had done. Dumbledore had done. The foolish band of Marauder misfits had done. Potter had done. Both generations. What was one more name? One more person to loathe and dream of retaliating in a most gruesome and highly uncivilized fashion. Of course, Snape would probably never end up doing it, more the pity to him, but fantasizing was vastly pleasurable.

Besides, he didn't have much else in this hell.

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He stared at her as dispassionately as ever, aloof in his solitary cell. The collar remained where she had placed it the night before, though Hermione hadn't expected it to move. She had given the guards very explicate instructions not to touch it.

She crossed over to the chair, picking it off the seat and curling her fingers around it before looking up. "Well?"

"No pleasantries?" He asked, in that snide mightier-than-thou voice of his. "No common courtesies, Miss Granger?"

Hermione wanted to roll her eyes, but pursed her lips instead. Then, with a slight accommodating tilt of the head, she acquiesced to his wish for civility. "Forgive my manners, Professor. Good morning, I trust your evening was restful?"

He snorted and resumed leaning on the stone wall in much the same stance as the night before. "I think we both know it was not." He folded his arms and gave a smile that did not reach his eyes. "But thank you for the inquiry."

"Your welcome, Professor." She replied dryly. "Now, to business."

"Ah yes." His eyes shifted to the collar in her hand. "I've given the matter some amount of consideration..."

He paused then, and Hermione waited several moments. When nothing more was forthcoming, she lifted her eyebrows. "And?"

He seemed pleased, if the quirk at the side of his lips was anything to go by, and continued. "And, I've decided to take you up on your _generous _offer."

Relief washed through her like a palatable tide rising over her toes despite the sarcasm dripping from his words. She let out a small breath she didn't realize she had been holding.

Suddenly, the relief fled as Snape held up a single index finger. "With certain conditions."

"All due respect, Professor, I don't believe you are in any position to set terms." Hermione replied evenly.

A slight smirk graced his lips. "Oh, but I think I am. You'll find them quite reasonable, Miss Granger."

Seeing he was apparently not about to change his mind, Hermione crossed her arms and regarded him with reservation. "Go on then."

"First, and most importantly, wearing that," he pointed with disdain towards the leather ring dangling from her finger tips, "does not make me your personal slave. I will not do menial tasks, Miss Granger. If you so much as ask me to fetch your slippers, I will demand to be brought back to my cell."

Hermione was insulted by the implications, and she knew it must have shown on her face. "The thought never crossed my mind, Professor."

"No, I didn't think it had, Miss Granger. I merely want the understanding." He replied without apology. In fact, he seemed more irritated by the response, as if he had expected something like it, and was unhappy that his prediction proved correct. Did he want her to fight him on that point? It was very confusing. Then again, this was Snape.

"You have it then." She said in clipped words.

He seemed ever the bastard, smirking with her agitation. "Second, I wish to be allowed a bath. A very long, uninterrupted, bath. A decent meal. And, clothes I was accustomed to."

"Easily done." Hermione answered without hesitation. They were, as he had said, very reasonable conditions. Ones she herself might set. "Anything else?"

"Your trust in my decisions on this goose chase. If I'm to be hunting them down, I do not need you second guessing and questioning my every move." He peered down at his nails, which seemed to have grown quite a bit longer than she remembered he had kept them. How strange, she reflected quietly, that she should remember such an insignificant thing about him as his well manicured nails. "I will be a bit lenient on this point. I vividly recall your nature to ask an absurd amount of questions and imparting your _thorough _knowledge on any subject. I find it unlikely to have changed in the years since I had you in class."

Down again to little Know It All Granger then. Hermione herself would be the first to admit to anyone that she had been enthusiastic as a child. Especially to share what she had worked so hard to learn. Hand in the air, flapping madly, was the way she had done things up until her forth year. After that, it was a quiet pride of doing things right the first time. Preparation and study before every class had helped tremendously, but she did have a natural gift towards Charms and Transfiguration.

In Potions, however, she could have shined. It was right down her branch of learning. Memorization of not only a list of items and proper mixing directions, but a baser understanding of the ingredients and their properties when mixed with one another. Hermione had always believed that, given a different teacher, she could have excelled. As it was, Snape had even taken that pleasure away from her.

While all her other Hogwarts Professors had encouraged her, Snape was never one of them. He had sneered and insulted Hermione more than any other Gryffindor, with the exception of Harry and Neville. He took glee in pointing out her mistakes, blowing them out of proportion and calling her intelligence to question. When there was nothing wrong-- every i dotted and every t crossed, he would send her malicious glares as he rounded her cauldron. Letting her know she had only to slip, and he would be there to point and smirk condescendingly as she fell.

She often wondered to herself, usually late at night as she was double checking every word in her Potion's essay, whether it was because her parents were muggles. She would then chide herself for being unfair, after all, he was a scholar. Then, she had learned of his Mark. Even if he was a spy, she realized that meant at one time he held Voldemort's beliefs. He may have even participated in muggle sport. It was a disturbing revelation that made her that more emboldened to prove to Snape that muggle born witches could be every bit as good at potions as purebloods.

Hermione had to give Snape some credit, she had learned the subject very well. Good enough to go on to Mediwizardry after leaving Hogwarts. Hermione had even received the title as Potions Mistress for her research on a magical enhancement potion. Rather like amplifying whatever spell was cast on an object. Experimenting with the potion as a core in wands was currently underway, and highly restricted by the Ministry.

However, any pleasure she may have taken from the honorific was denied. Snape had already been sentenced and served time in Azkaban. She doubted he knew of her title, and to point it out to him would doubtlessly remind him of that young eleven year old girl. Desperately seeking his approval and even compliments.

It would be a cold day in hell when Severus Snape complimented Hermione Granger on anything.

"The reason you're getting out of this cell is to guide the investigation. It would be rather pointless for me to bring you along otherwise, wouldn't you say?" Hermione asked.

Snape waved his hand. "Then I am at your disposal."

Hermione went to the end of the wards, where a small metal drawer was pushed out. She placed the collar into it, and slammed it shut with a great shove. It rang out in the hallway, echoing to the end, as it opened on the opposite side to Snape.

He straightened off the wall, peering down into the drawer with obvious hesitation. His eyes fixed and glaring at the object within, condemning it's very existence. As if captured in time, his hand slowly reached down and a moment later lifted with his fingers curled around the leather collar. He hesitated only another few seconds, before bringing it up against his neck. He curled the leather around the strong tendons visible on his slim neck, and with deft fingers folded the end within the silver buckle.

As soon as the piece was secured and he dropped his hands away, the collar retracted around him. Melting against him like a second skin. The end of the strap merged into the main, and then the buckle slowly faded from view. It was now a single black ring about the pale flesh, standing out as much as his hair and eyes.

Snape tilted his head side to side experimentally, and the collar shifted with his muscles, as if spandex instead of leather. Apparently satisfied it would not inhibit motion, he stood calmly again and folded his long arms across his chest. Eyes again meeting her own, all the loathing in the world contained within the black glinting orbs.

"A small test then?" Hermione suggested lightly. She had no doubt that it was charmed correctly. Still, it never hurt to make certain.

Snape said nothing and merely waited for her to continue.

Hermione absently nibbled on her lower lip as she considered what she should have him do. Something completely out of character for him. Something he would never normally say. "Tell me, something you admire about Harry Potter."

His eyes narrowed into tiny slits of rage. In a quiet, angry hiss, he answered nearly automatically. "His relationships with others."

Hermione blinked. "What do you mean by his relationships?"

"I mean," Snape snapped irritably, "the friendships he has. The trust given to him without reservation."

"I see." Hermione said softly. Snape's lips pressed together into a furious line. His dark glare daring her to say anything. Hermione resisted curiosity, instead focusing on the business at hand. It seemed the collar was working. "A few more commands, and then I'll have the guards come and drop the wards."

"Fine." He snarled.

"When I give you an order, you are to acknowledge it verbally, so that I know you understand." She began.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Very well."

"You are never to be out of range for me to either see you, or hear you. Unless I tell you otherwise." She continued.

"Mhm." He hummed in a flat tone.

"You will never lie, cheat, attempt to trick or physically harm me-- in any fashion."

"Understood."

"You will not try to escape." Hermione said firmly.

Snape sighed and nodded his head. "Yes, I rather figured that out on my own."

"Good." Hermione sent a genuine smile towards him, only to be met by another trademark sneer. "I'll be back with the guards, then we'll be on our way."

If Snape was excited about leaving, he certainly didn't look it. He merely leaned once more against the wall and turned his head away from Hermione. She did notice, before she turned to walk back down the corridor, that a finger had reached up and stroked the surface of his collar. As if assuring himself it was really there. She saw a brief flash of doubt cross his features as he frowned lightly, then his hand dropped away and he continued to stare at the wall with a emotionless mask that all Slytherins seemed to wear.

Hermione found the sight had left an impression on her as she went to fetch the guards. Whatever she had expected to feel when Snape had bound himself, she had not foreseen pity. Indifference, perhaps, to his agreement. The pity, and even a bit of guilt, felt unsettling in her stomach. She swallowed reflexively as she climbed the stone staircase. He was a man, not an animal, even if his crimes were heinous. Even if he had tormented them all for years, he was still a human.

Humans were not meant for captivity.

She sighed and rubbed a hand over her face. It was for the best, really. The others would be apprehended, she had no doubt of that, and he would be pardoned. The collar was merely a precaution. Just to make sure he didn't try to escape before hand. If she could have secured his release in her custody without it, she certainly would have taken that avenue.

She did feel he would be better off in her care rather than Ron or Harry's. Even Dumbledore's, though she suspected the old wizard had a soft spot when it came to Snape. He never believed for a moment Snape had been a turncoat, and he had voiced that opinion at his trial to the dismay of nearly every witch and wizard that had been present. Hermione wasn't quite as sure of Snape's innocence. Dumbledore hadn't spent seven years in Potions class with the man, after all.

Snape was capable of anything. It wasn't so much his disposition towards cruelty that made him dangerous, but rather his incredible intelligence and Slytherin cunning. He was as ruthless as they came, no doubt about that, and like anyone else, he had a healthy dose of self preservation. Yet sometimes, she had to admit, there were pieces missing from the Ministry's explanation of events. Gaps in what the trial had tried to paint as a clear picture.

To be fair, so much of those final days in the war had been a complete mess. It was difficult picking up the pieces, finding out just what had happened. Eye witness accounts had always been slightly unreliable. Colored by distorted memories or even bias. Pensives had been used, but not allowed as evidence. Harry himself had been confused after the final chaotic days of the war, and unclear as to what had happened other than his brief captivity and escape from Malfoy Manor, and the final duel with Voldemort.

Still, the eleven year old Hermione had balked to see Snape, a fierce and powerful wizard in his own right, caged so. The piece of her that always fought for the rights of every species had winced as he touched the collar, despite the logical arguments she made to herself. It may have been the only way, but she still felt damned for taking it.

Hermione was determined not to abuse it. For all Snape's faults and crimes, he didn't deserve to be treated unfairly. Ironic as that may have been to Hermione, who had suffered from his stinging words and Slytherin bias for seven years.

It was with that solemn vow in her head that she finally reached the small guard station. A few uttered words, another document, and four guards were following her back down into the dark depths of Azkaban.

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	3. Painting the Ocean

**Collared**  
Adriana Troy 

**Disclaimer**: The characters and world they are in belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from this fan fiction. Honest. 

**Pairing**: Severus Snape/Hermione Granger. Post Voldemort's WWWII (Wizarding World War II), so Miss Granger is no longer a student. No squickiness there. Read on to find out the rest. 

**Rating**: The Fanfiction.net version is a strong PG-13. My view is if you can watch Buffy, then you can probably read this. Other archived versions will include much darker violence and consensual adult situations (yeah, sex) and will be labeled NC-17. That won't happen until far later chapters, and I'll try to include the link to the alternatives if anyone is interested. Since FF.Net is now a prudish prat when it comes to such things.

**Archive**: Sure, knock yourself out. Just keep author's name in tact and don't change anything. I think that's pretty much a given. No need to directly e-mail the author and ask. She'd just say yes anyway. 

**A/N**: Although this involves a collar, there isn't any real BDSM (if you don't know what that is then don't worry). Hermione isn't likely to begin brandishing a whip, so my apologies if that disappoints you. The beginning (and other parts) is purposefully fashioned after Silence of the Lambs. I fancy Snape as a Hannibal like prisoner and Hermione as the fresh agent Starling. It is, in fact, where the idea for this plot first bloomed. Then, as all plot bunnies tend to do, it multiplied at an astounding rate. Booyah.

Sorry for the wait. Here it is. 

**Chapter II**

**Painting the Ocean**

He could hear them coming as far away as the staircase, Granger's heels clicking on every stone step like a warning bell. He forced his hand away from it, but he could still _feel_ it. It's shadow was much worse than the night before, although he was certain it was his own mind that tricked itself into thinking the skin where the band was wrapped tightly around was stinging. It was not only prickling his skin, but his mind as well. A little whisper that uttered no words but he understood none-the-less. _You have no choice_, it was telling him, _no choice_. 

The worst part of it all perhaps, was that the alien presence was making itself more integrated into his thoughts with each passing moment. Snape believed firmly that he would be unable to distinguish his own thoughts and desires from it's eventually, and quite frankly, that idea terrified him as the Dark Lord never could.

Damn that little wench. 

Snape could recognize the seething anger that he held, and it was there because she had not forbid him from feeling those emotions towards her. The glowering man supposed he should be grateful for that allowance, but somehow the idea of not being able to act on that rage was insulting and degrading. There had been times in the past when he had derived strength from it. While it was never wise to display one's emotions, he always recognized them as powerful tools. 

Well, he thought as Granger and her armed escort neared his quaint little cell; he would simply have to re-direct it. Every order she gave him that ignited that burning need to retaliate, Snape would save it all for when he found the others. When they wore little shiny collars of their own he would smirk slyly to his old comrades, and wait for the day when his would come off—knowing theirs never would. 

And it _would_ come off. 

He lazily peered out the corner of his eyes as they approached the wards separating Snape from the flame lit corridor beyond. The first step to his freedom, and one he looked forward to taking soon. They appeared in front of it, and he recognized the five lumbering guards standing all around Hermione like a human chain. Workers at Azkaban donned rather plan red robes, with a single white stripe encircling the chest. If they were higher up on the command ladder, they would wear two stripes and so on. These five had three stripes, and he felt the corner of his lips slowly curl upwards in satisfaction. It was not every prisoner who was worthy of such ranking security measures. 

It was clear from the shifting of their eyes from his unbound hands and feet they would prefer to see him in chains. Snape tossed his hair out of his face and continued to peer steadily at them, a challenge in his gaze that none of them could meet. One did not school over a thousand children without learning a little something about intimidation. Humans were like animals in that respect, whoever broke the eye contact to look away first was submissive. 

Which is why it came as no surprise to Snape when Granger stubbornly refused to give way. His lip curled again, but not in satisfaction, rather supreme annoyance. She would have researched all the little Slytherin power games. Probably spent a good deal of time researching many things about him, Snape wouldn't be all that surprised to learn. She always did make an epic out of an essay. 

"Well?" He snarled when none of the guards moved to begin unweaving the wards. 

The anger and distrust they shot to him did little to move him, well aside from the supreme annoyance. They were truly blithering idiots if they thought that he could disobey any order from Granger. Well, that was another lesson from years teaching at Hogwarts. People were extremely stupid, especially within groups where one person's idiocy seemed to seep to the rest through some sort of osmosis. 

"It's perfectly alright." Granger stated, trying to infuse confidence into her voice. Which, he noticed, still held a level of that bossy superiority he had hoped she'd outgrow. For what little credit he could give her, it was greatly smoothed over. Perhaps it was merely this situation that brought it out. 

For the sake of his sanity he hoped so. Being ordered around in that sort of tone would drive him up the wall in a manner of hours, and it seemed that he would be forced in her company for days. Perhaps, shudder to think it, weeks. 

Months were not an option. 

He was brought from his silent musings when the guards finally lifted their wands and began tracing the intricate runic patterns that formed all the wards to keep him inside his cell. He was profoundly thankful for it, since it was rather bothersome to realize he'd once again been thinking about the Granger chit. He really had been inside this cell for too long if the little Know-It-All became something worth perusing over in his mind. 

As the invisible barrier slowly began glowing a dull violet, he chalked it all up to not having seen any sort of soft female curves in years. That was enough to addle any man's thoughts. Not that he intended to think on them for very long. 

Snape barely repressed the urge to sigh and pinch the bridge of his rather large nose as his mind kept wandering towards these distractions. No more thinking on it. Her curves weren't even that great. Bah. 

Luckily, the glowing runes were enough to push those unpleasant thoughts from his head, and he watched with growing anticipation he hadn't felt since the night before his eleventh birthday as their outlines grew bolder and clearer. The guards weren't chanting charms, but there were looks of intense concentration on their faces- some furrowing their brows while others narrowed their eyes. He had a flash of being in front of a classroom again, watching children attempt to decipher his spidery scrawl across a chalkboard. 

The light became intense, painfully so, but he refused to look away. When the first pattern shattered apart like glass, his entire being felt vivacious and alive. The next then broke apart, a much grander explosion then the last, and tiny shocks spilled into his cell and the corridor beyond like the last dying embers of a rain of fireworks. 

Another, and the wards were significantly weakened. He could see four left now, and the guards' wands were vibrating with the effort. Well, their own damn fault for putting so many precautions up in the first place. Yet another thing he had to thank Black for. Aha, another. His body was thrumming, his heart beating with the speed of a hummingbird's flapping wings. So soon now, so very soon. The third burst in a grandest display yet, forcing several of the guards taking an involuntary step back- but Snape didn't dare move an inch. Two more. Two more and he would be out of this hell. 

There was a humming now as the last two struggled against the waves and flicks of the wands forcing them to unravel. Snape's body was so taunt he felt he could snap and shatter himself. And then a ward did, and the blast actually sent his hair flying in all directions. 

And then there was one. 

It was a stubborn bastard, the strongest of them all. The anti-apparition barrier, and it was about to fall. He could feel the magic, tingling through his body down to his very marrow. His fingers curled into his palms, nails digging so painfully that the skin broke, but he ignored the sting. He willed the thing to break apart- let him out. It thrummed and then the violet changed shade to a furious red that made spots dance across his vision. 

He felt it before it actually shattered. Like the whisper of a dying man, his final words in this world. It flared into an inferno of flames that licked the very tops of the stones lining the arch of the cell. Snape felt the heat push the air, but he didn't even blink. He couldn't even if he wanted to. He watched with wide open eyes as it gave a final pulse before it too exploded with a snap. 

He was then staring at the panting guards, with nothing between them. Nothing. 

Except that damn collar. 

"I've already signed all the proper paper work, Professor." Granger said, but her voice was barely registering in his mind. It was gone. The wards were gone. "So we can go ahead and be on our way." 

And then she made a graceful movement with her hand that clearly indicated that's what they should do. Snape blinked a few times, surprised his legs didn't seem to be catching the signals his brain was sending to them. The guards were on edge, having just preformed very complicated spells and having a notorious Death Eater about to just walk on past them would do that to a person. 

Finally, it seemed Snape was able to make his feet move. One and then the other, and he was looking at from a vantage point so different then the one he had been kept in for so very, very, long. The scenery was the same. Bricks that seemed alive from the vermin that crawled atop them, lights that barely lit the corridor at all with the few torches set into the wall. It was not the view but the perspective that was so fantastic. He could even see that there were cracks in the ceiling just above his head. How fabulous. 

"Let's move along now." Granger said gently, as one would speak to an anxious child. Soothing and very tender. 

Snape couldn't help but shoot her one of his glares of steel, added with a sneer for good measure. He then turned on his heel and briskly began walking with long strides. He heard the others behind him take two steps to catch up, particularly Granger with her clicking heels. 

There were other prisoners watching with loathing and longing combined as he strode past them without so much as a sympathetic glance. One witch, an inmate from before when the Dementors still guarded the walls, had the nerve to laugh hysterically. Snape snarled and had to curb the instinct to give the woman the finger. He wouldn't miss her either. 

He'd miss none of it. 

Then the oddest sensation fell over him as he took to the stairway and began his ascent out of the inferno. Like walking in a dream. The part of his mind that had accepted his fate seemed unable to grasp that he was actually leaving. And as he passed the top step and came to the ground level of Azkaban, a place he could not even recall passing on his way in, he thought perhaps he was in some sort of shock. He was numb. Things blurred into only sensations as Granger finally took the lead, following her down more corridors and past sentries as they came closer and closer to the giant doors. 

The air was so fresh, he greedily breathed deeply of it. He couldn't recall the faces of those he passed, wasn't even sure if he sneered as they walked by, but then in an instant the doors were opened. 

Sweet Merlin, there was still a sky after all. 

It was so difficult to process the emotions and sensations as he stepped outside of Azkaban and back into the world- he felt even his way with the English language would never be able to adequately describe it. The sky was not a bright cloudless blue with an absurdly happy sun beaming down. Azkaban was perpetually covered in a dreary and gray fog that haunted its walls as sure as the poor souls who had died within. It was probably for the best that way, as such bright colors may have blinded him permanently. 

But what he did notice, what he would always recall, was the ocean. As they walked briskly over the giant stone bridge that connected the rocky island to the British mainland, he could see and smell the ocean. An entity, a living nearly breathing thing of beautiful deep blues swirling with so many shades it boggled the mind as it stretched onwards into an eternity against a gray skyline. The waves rolled with a sense of their own, lapping with a sound that met his ears with a welcomed peace. Their tops were white foam, something that brought a vivid memory of potions he had worked on in different times when he was still a productive member of Wizarding society. 

And there was the spray as those waves as they crashed into the stonework and met his face like a thousand miniscule tears. Or were those his? He couldn't tell and he didn't care. The wind was whipping his hair, the spray of the ocean was hitting his face like a splash of cold water, and the sounds were magnificent while jarring his very bones. 

Severus Snape bent his head back and breathed deep of free air. Feeling alive again. 

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A/N: Short- I know- but it's how I finally decided to go with this. I feel it's powerful enough on it's own, even though there are several longer- much longer- versions of it. Even if it doesn't quite captivate the emotions as well as it probably could. It's been long enough- however- and I don't wish to keep you waiting any more. It's just so very difficult to write this sort of scene. I hope I've succeeded. 


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